rock; of others by wooden stairways
leading to balconies painted blue or green and adorned with
pot-plants--geraniums, fuchsias, lemon-verbenas--on ledges imminent over
Hester's head. The most of the passers-by were women carrying pails
of water, or country folks with baskets of market stuff. The whole
street seemed to be cleaning up and taking in provisions for the day,
and all amid a buzz of public gossip, one housewife pausing on her
balcony as she shook a duster, and leaning over to discuss market
prices with her neighbour chaffering below. The cross-fire of talk
died down as the dealers dispersed, snatching up their wares from
under the wheels of the spring-cart, while the women took long,
silent stock of Hester's appearance and dress. Behind her it broke
forth again, louder than ever.

At the foot of the hill they swung round a corner, and passing a
public-house and the rails of the parish church, threaded their way
round two more corners, and entered a street scarcely less narrow
than the other, but level. Here Nuncey drew up before an ope through
which Hester caught another glimpse of blue-green water. They had
arrived.

A grinning lad lifted out Hester's trunk and bore it down the ope to
a green-painted doorway, where a rosy-faced, extremely solemn child
stared out on the world over a green-painted board, fixed across with
the evident purpose of confining him to the house. Having despatched
this urchin to warn his mother that 'the furriner was come,' the lad
heaved his burden over the board, dumped it down inside with a bang,
and returned, still grinning amiably, to take charge of horse and
cart.

"If you want to know t'other from which in our family," said Nuncey,
"there's nothing like beginning early. This is Shake."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Father had him christened Shakespeare, but we call him Shake for
short. It sounds more natural, somehow. And this here is Robert
Burns," she went on, leading the way to the green-painted doorway
where the small urchin had resumed his survey of the world beyond
home. "That's another of father's inventions; but the poor cheeld
pulled down the kettle when he was eighteen months old and scalded
hisself all over, so he's gone by his full name ever since. Mother!"
Nuncey called aloud, stepping over the barrier. "Here's the new
school-teacher!"

A middle-aged, fair-haired woman, with a benign but puzzled smile,
appeared in the passage, holding a baby at the brea